


God Laughs

by ninamalfoy



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-19
Updated: 2010-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninamalfoy/pseuds/ninamalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Letting go hurts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	God Laughs

**Author's Note:**

> First posted on LJ on June 28th, 2007.
> 
> Not true in the least bit. I'm just borrowing their public persona to play.

_'What should I do?'_ Metze's last words still reverberated in Basti's mind. He got up and crossed the living room to the window, almost stumbling over one of Luis' plushies.

Real Madrid.

Basti knew that they had asked Metze already once, back in 2003, but then the Achilles' heel happened. And everything else. Basti had been secretly glad that it hadn't worked out, that Metze had stayed here, with him. But a small part of his mind knew that it would end, had to end. Ought to have ended already, actually. But Basti had been that selfish that he had wanted everything. It had worked out - but now they were here, together but apart, and he could feel Christoph slipping further away from him with every second.

_Stop being so sentimental, Sebastian Kehl,_ he told himself angrily, closing his eyes.

"Basti?" Metze had gotten up and was now behind Basti, so close and - but he didn't touch him, he was just a steady warm presence at Basti's back.

He didn't want to lose anything, he wanted to keep everything and everyone. His family. His best friend who was also his lover. All this - forever. He wanted to grow old with Tina, laughing when she'd roll her eyes at his antics, he wanted to enjoy long breakfasts in bed with Metze, feeding him grapes and strawberries and teasing him, and he wanted to see Luis grow up, to go on holiday with him and Tina, driving around the country, and Metze would come over from time to time and they'd have little football matches, him and Luis against Metze.

_When you plan, God laughs._ He had read it in a book once, and despite not being able to remember the plot nor the title nor the author anymore, this one line had stuck with him for years.

"You decide." He didn't turn and look at Metze.

A sigh. "I don't know, Basti. I don't - I can't lose -"

Basti closed Metze's mouth with a hard kiss, Metze's biceps flexing in his grip. "I know." Their eyes met and Basti was struck again by how beautiful Metze was, with these warm brown eyes, the sweet curves of his lips and the leanstrong body warm against his. So utterly different from Tina and yet they were both beautiful in their own unique way.

"But you have to decide," he said, quietly. "It's not up for me to tell you what to do with your life."

Metze shook his head. "_Basti._ It's hard enough, and - I don't know. I want to know what you think."

Basti sighed. If it were a second-league club, he would've given his answer with a clear conscience. But it wasn't even Bremen or Bayern. It was Real fucking Madrid, the club that had signed Beckham and Nistelrooy and Ronaldo and Figo and many more glorious names, and they wanted him.

His Metze. The only man in his life he didn't want to lose. Ever.

But it seemed like God was laughing harder than ever, and Basti imagined it being a cold, clear laugh without compassion, just pure amusement, terrible in its mercilessness.

"Take the offer, Christoph," he said, swallowing. "It's the best offer you've gotten so far and Real Madrid's a great club, and you -"

Metze's thumb pressed down over his still-moving lips and his eyes were clear with shock. "You want me to go?"

Basti nodded, his hand raising up to take Metze's hand and pressing to his chest, feeling the knuckles scrape over his linen shirt. "Yes. I want you to go." Just six words, and each one weighed as heavy as lead in his mouth. He closed his eyes, his forehead touching Metze's shoulder, the cashmere soft to his skin.

"But you know what this means," Metze said, haltingly. A hand came up to caress Basti's nape, warm fingers sending little shivers down Basti's spine.

Basti stayed silent. He knew, he knew too well what this meant. No more meeting up again just with a short phone-call ('Hey, wanna come over?' - 'I'll be there in half a hour.' - 'Okay.'). No more Metze at training to crack jokes with. No more sex on Metze's king size bed. No more late evenings watching movies on Metze's couch with their fingers intertwined, Basti's head on Metze's shoulder.

"Thank you." Basti scrunched his eyes shut, but wetness blossomed into the cashmere sweater.

"You're welcome," he whispered. He hadn't known that letting go would hurt _that_ much.

And God still laughed.


End file.
